


I Just Had Sex

by anotherjadedwriter



Series: Wasteland Bros Mixtape [2]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blowjobs, Explicit Consent, Fingering, First Times, Hypersensitivity, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Oral Sex, Virginity, showering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-23
Updated: 2017-06-23
Packaged: 2018-11-18 02:40:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11282064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anotherjadedwriter/pseuds/anotherjadedwriter
Summary: They don't change as much as Roadhog had anticipated, but they do change. It's more subtle, maybe.With any luck, he might even be able to get off too.





	I Just Had Sex

They change, as a unit, much less than Roadhog had assumed they would. He hadn’t expected Junkrat to have some terrible transformation from a scavver into whatever the fuck the guys in the porns Junkrat himself liked were, but he had expected it to be awkward. Having these sorts of emotional ties made it harder to just let someone run into an active gunfight for the fun of it. At least, he assumes as much, assumes that it’s supposed to do that, at least. He’s seen movies.

But they’re still about the same. The changes aren’t small, in the scope of their relationship before, but they’re unobtrusive. Rat will lean on him and let him help when his leg malfunctions and he needs to get to a seat, which is a nice change. He pulls himself up with an almost painful grip on Hog’s shoulders for a kiss now and then, but he has yet to complain about the mask. He crawled into bed, once, tucking himself carefully against Hog’s side.

He’d sighed out what sounded like a held breath when Roadhog woke enough to wrap an arm around his waist, pressing his face against his side and breathing shallowly, evening out into sleep faster than usual. They don’t sleep together nightly-- Junkrat needs space, kicks and wakes up about to swing a haymaker half the time, and Hog likes being able to roll over. It works.

The strange hypersensitivity issues are still there, but less. Maybe half of it was some blind animal fear, but he can stand being held around the waist, he can have his hair ruffled and only get a semi. Small victories.

Roadhog has rediscovered that he really does like kissing. He still has to cover Rat’s eyes, but generally he gets hard and Hog can just jack him off anyway, so it isn’t that big of an issue to just press him to the mattress or wall or ground with a hand over his eyes and kiss him senseless. It does help that the response is so good, of course, but even so, it’s just nice to feel lips on his, even if it comes with a skinny bastard with a pointy nose occasionally getting too excited and jabbing him in the fucking eye.

It was only a few times, though, and never on purpose. Its endearing, in a weird way.

The only big shift was that every now and then, when they’re on the bike or walking close or sitting close, just now and then when they’re near each other, Rat’s hand will find itself touching Hog’s. Never really holding, just touching. Resting against or on top of. It feels interesting. The actual contact isn’t that interesting, of course, but the idea that Rat is feeling mushy enough to want it is interesting.

It’s nice, and entirely, completely disgusting. Roadhog can feel himself getting drawn in to romance with this skinny, too-tall prick. It’s terrible. It makes him scared, and he can feel fear in waves rolling off of him every time they get close, even when he initiates. It’s been too fucking long, for Hog, and then Rat had never even tried it before. It’s terrifying.

Junkrat’s hand slips into Roadhog’s and the back of his neck turns red, but no one looks at either of them. The hotel is one of those automated joints they have now, where Roadhog throws money in a machine and they get a room. Junkrat is chattering about tearing screens out of walls already, but lets himself be pulled along with no complaints.

Even when they’re inside, Rat’s hand is still in Hog’s, and he just kind of follows him over to the bed, still grinning, still flushed. It almost feels like a date. He bounces when he sits on the mattress, looking like he has something to say.

“Wanna root?” He’s clearly trying to look casual. He looks terrified. Excited, but terrified. “Since we got the room for a few. Y’know. Hours or so.”

The answer is, of course, yes, but there’s more to it. Fuck yes, is closer. It’s no question, but Junkrat needs to be prepped. He probably doesn’t know all the details to it. Roadhog had never actually had to deal with a virgin before, now that he thinks about it. He’s never had to explain everything before.

He takes his hand back and turns, facing him with a stern look in his eyes. “We’ve got to talk about it, then.” He plants a hand on Jamie’s shoulder, softening his tone at the panic in his eyes. “You don’t know how it works. We have to talk it out. I’m not upset.”

Jamie doesn’t relax in the slightest, but he doesn’t bolt, so it’s better than nothing. On the downside, now he has to talk about shitting. And lube, which he does have but which is hard to explain. And a myriad of other things.

“You want me to get you off?” He’s tired. It’s too hard to explain all this to Rat, and it feels almost like stealing something from him.

Jamie frowns, folding his arms and effecting a posh accent. “Is my ass not good enough for you?” He laughs to himself, then straightens up. “I wanna, y’know. Like. Do it.” He sounds too innocent and it disgusts Mako that he likes it.

“Alright.” He sighs, rubbing his temples through the mask. “Make sure you don’t have to shit.”

Now Jamie is blinking, confused. “Oh.” He shifts, seems to be thinking. “Uh. Hm. I’m not sure.” He stands, then pauses. “Don’t really know if the mood’s great right after I do. Sounds kinda shite.” He smirks, tugging at the weak joint in his forefinger, popping the metal open idly.

“S’alright. Whenever works for you.” He makes a point of not watching Rat shuffle to the bathroom, flipping through the channels on the TV at the foot of the bed. Something for background noise. Should he make a blindfold? Maybe just his mouth showing would be fine. There’s no way Junkrat hadn’t  _ felt  _ his face, at least a little, by now. God only knows Hog takes nearly any chance he can to touch the guy. It’s almost better than getting off himself. Almost. “Or whatever.”

The room is empty and blissfully quiet, giving him too much time to think about what he’d likely be doing at some point. He’s not about to jump Rat the second he gets out of the bathroom, but at some point. He wouldn’t finish it in just one go, he knows that. It’ll take time working him up to more than one finger, even. He wonders if Rat will come even without touching his dick.

It’s all quiet for a while, with Rat shuffling back in and sitting at the edge of the bed and the TV on low. It’s fine by Hog; the breadth of sex, even covering the basics of preparation and consent, is staggering. He’s got a lot to think about during this quiet time, with Junkrat eventually getting interested in taking apart the answering machine for parts; something about the spools on the ancient tapes makes him excited, and Roadhog doesn’t question it, chalking it up to a general interest in old shit.

Lucky for him.

He’s about to call it a night when Junkrat scoots himself over, drops his leg off the side of the bed, and takes a deep breath. The Serious Voice isn’t one he uses often, but Hog can call it a mile off, because he always takes a deep breath and narrows his eyes, ready to haggle. “How should I be? For the, y’know.” Hog is about to say if he can’t use the word he isn’t ready, but Rat continues. “For you to f-f-root, with me.” His voice cracks at the word.

“I could blow you.” He offers, side-eyeing Rat as he seems to go through a few arguments in his head. 

He’s about to congratulate himself, but Rat shakes his head. “Nah, I wanna try it for real. You can blow me another time.” He sounds sure.

“Alright.” He sits up. Stands, moves to the end of the bed while Jamie makes a nest of pillows for himself. “I’m gonna keep the mask on.” Mako let Jamie whine, but didn’t budge. It would be only moderately less terrifying to have his face showing, probably. “If you want to stop, just tell me.”

Jamie nods, sitting up. “Kiss me.” As much as he really doesn’t prefer being ordered around (or, well, not without warning), he reaches up to cover Jamie’s eyes, only to freeze. “Wait!” Mako stays still, waiting, and looks him over, waiting for the fear that he’s been expecting again. It doesn’t come. Jamie grins, closing his eyes. “Testin’ ya.”

“Arsehole.” He grunts, mushing his hand against Jamie’s face (affectionately, damn them both) to push him back. “Keep your eyes closed.”

He knows the drill and lays, obediently, on the bed, tracing the embroidery on the blanket with his fingers. Mako pushes the mask up, tempted to take it off but not wanting to hunt down something to cover Jamie’s eyes with. Better to just accept the discomfort, less of a chance of cutting this weird tryst short, as much as it makes him uncomfortable knowing how much he enjoys it.

Jamie sighs against his lips, arms locking securely around his shoulders as he shoves his tongue in Mako’s mouth. Impatient as ever. He shivers when Mako’s other hand trails down his throat, down his chest, skipping the prelude to at least get his pants off. Jamie moans when he spreads a hand over his abdomen, hips rocking up slightly. Mako pulls back from where he’d been following the sharp angles of his jaw, unbuttoning his shorts with one hand. After a few seconds, Jamie shuffles them down on his own.

Plaid boxers. For some reason, Mako had him pinned for briefs. He’s proportionate. In general, not just his dick, but it’s easier to see when he’s almost naked. Jamie sobs a strange, desperate noise when Mako strokes his fingertips over the stump of his leg, flesh hand gripping Mako’s own hand. He mutters something, almost like he’s just trying to fill empty air. Mako ignores it, too busy looking him over. He leans in, kisses Jamie on the cheek, reassuring as much as he can be, with his size and with Jamie not able to see him.

“Should I roll over?” He asks, not letting up his grip on Mako’s wrist. He’s trembling. “Or, uh.”

When he seems set on staying silent, for once in his life, Mako resumes looking him over, stroking the stump of his leg to hear the strange noise he makes again. “No, stay like this.” He can wrap a hand around his thigh almost entirely, and when he does, his fingers brushing the milk-pale skin of his inner thighs, Jamie whines.

This time, Mako feels his cock in his pants, twitching to life just from looking Jamie over. His hand slides up, leaving the puckered stump and pushing his boxers slightly up. Jamie mumbles, twists his hips, and groans when Mako slots his hand between his legs, fingertips pressing slightly against his hole.

His voice is low. “Yes. I’m good. Keep goin’.” Still, he sounds worried. No, not worried, excited.

Maybe both.

“Lift your hips.” Mako’s hand slides over the tent in Jamie’s boxers and he whimpers, but does as he’s told, and Mako pulls the boxers down his legs. Without thinking too much, in a tone like he’s a hurt animal, he mumbles to Jamie. “Doin’ fine.”

Jamie nods, but doesn’t speak. He’s not exactly relaxed, which does make it a little harder to do anything, but Mako hasn’t seem him relaxed in all the time he’s known him. Maybe when he was asleep, but that wouldn’t help now. Mako leans forward, kisses him lightly, and removes his hand. Jamie’s eyes stay closed, and he pulls his mask off, taking a shaky breath of his own. If either of them survive this, he might start believing that they’re immortal.

“Open your eyes.” He manages, looking down at Jamie as he squirms for a second; it isn’t like he’s ever been in the lurch of getting off and been told to look at anything, or even open his eyes. “You have to relax, Jamie.”

His eyes open, widen, then close quickly. “Your mask ain’t on!” He covers his eyes himself, and Mako’s heart kind of breaks a little. Adorable.

“I know.” He leans over Jamie, trying not to look intimidating and scarred. “Look.”

Jamie stays curled in on himself. “Why?” He sounds hopeful, anxious, his thighs rubbing together a bit. His hand lifts, but only just, like he’s peeking at something he’s not supposed to see.

Why, indeed. He ruffles Jamie’s hair, preening at the smile it earns him, allowing himself a few moments of just looking at his face, of enjoying his closeness. The calm that took over, not enough to relax his twitching, but enough to slow his breathing, to let him open his eyes again.

He can practically see those orange irises turn to hearts, his grin getting weird and going in the wrong directions as he reaches up to touch Mako’s face, fingertips brushing delicately over the scar, then tracing his lips, his eyebrows, his cheekbones, his jaw, with that same wide-eyed look he gets when he sees an explosion in a movie he wants to recreate. Mako manages not to twitch under the attention only by reminding himself that he’s an adult and that at least one of them has to be calm about this.

Jamie’s voice is small when he speaks. “Will you kiss me?” His eyes flick between Mako’s lips and his eyes, occasionally trailing to some spot of interest, and he looks so fucking earnest it aches.

Mako cups the back of his head on a meaty paw and kisses him like he’s more desperate than Jamie is, because he might just be, his other hand pulling Jamie’s hips to the edge of the bed. His knees will hurt, he’s sure, for kneeling like he was, but it’s worth it. He moves down, pressing his lips under his chin, over his chest, aware of his eyes trying to follow every movement. Jamie is shuddering by the time he reaches his hips, so he settles on the floor and grabs the bottle of lube from his pocket.

He’ll have to get more, even if the thought of it makes his neck burn.

With only a little prodding, Jamie lays himself back, a pillow under his head and his boot tapping an irregular beat on the floor next to Mako’s knee. Next time he’ll take it off. Next time, when they both aren’t this nervous and desperate, he’ll do it better, strip Jamie down and wash him off, pile him onto a mound of pillows. Next time.

“Oi.” The boot plants on his shoulder. This isn’t a great angle to talk, really, since it’s just a full view of his ass and balls, but he guesses that must be more comfortable. Or Jamie forgot he’s naked. “You gonna get on with it or just stare?”

He chuckles, popping the cap on the lube and pouring it over his fingers. “Relax.” Because that’s ever worked.

Mako slides his finger, lightly, over Jamie’s entrance, watching him react. He just shifts a little, more wound up than uncomfortable, and has this determined look on his face as Mako applies pressure. He’s focusing. Not on relaxing, that’s for goddamn sure.

“Jamie.” The sound of his name makes him blink, looking down. “Relax. You’re not getting graded.”

That works, makes him snicker and fall back, sucking in a short gasp when Mako presses a little harder. He’s still tense, but that’s alright. Mako’s come to expect that he won’t be getting off himself, even if it’s worth it. Maybe Jamie will like it enough to try again another time.

The tip of his finger slips in and he yelps, shocked. “Oh.” His stump twitches. “‘Snot bad. Just weird.” Finally, a good use for his chatter. He falls quiet though, breathing deeper, as Mako works a finger in, slowly as he can manage. It’s tight, of course, but not so much that it’s terribly difficult. Jamie’s erection is flagging by the time he’s got his finger in to the knuckle, but it twitches in interest when he moves it. “D-do that again.” He complies, and Jamie makes this little, desperate noise that Mako would pay money to hear again.

He pulls back, pressing in again slowly, and Jamie groans, his hips bucking up. “Feels good?” The flush on Jamie’s pale neck gets darker when he speaks, but he nods. “Good.”

The second finger is more work, with Mako having to slap his hand away from his dick to keep from having to cut it off because he tried to stay hard. Once he’s used to it, though, Jamie’s hips roll back against his hand, desperate whimpery noises falling out of his mouth as he thrusts his fingers faster, the edge of his palm bumping against his balls on each inward thrust.

Mako’s fine with this, with watching him fall apart under his hands, his eyes going all wide and his stump twitching (he imagines it’s phantom feelings of his toes curling), and then he sobs, arching his back a little, and shudders through an orgasm that’s obviously snuck up on him. His hips jerk and he grips Mako’s wrist, whining as he moves against him harder.

“Fuck, fuck, oh fuck me, god.” He’s limp and shivery now, so Mako only tortures him a few seconds longer before pulling his fingers back and wiping them on the bedspread. His thighs shake for a few long seconds before he speaks again. “Mako, god.”

That same wet, disgusting feeling wells up under his lungs again, and he lurches up to kiss him. Jamie shudders a little but kisses back, sloppy and slow and pliant under him. He’s gorgeous, looking tired and taken apart, and Mako despises the thought of leaving for even a second, so he just uses about a box of terrible motel tissues to wipe Jamie off enough for him not to be too gross, and pulls his boxers back on him.

He complains the whole time, of course. “I’m not kiddin’.” He snaps, watching listlessly as he’s cleaned. “I’m gonna fuckin’, get it done. Do you.” He trails off, wondering over tense and what he’s left unfinished. “Next time. Next time, lardass, I’m gonna blow your fuckin’ mind.” He promises, curling his face against Mako’s, no, against Roadhog’s neck, his arm draped over his chest and his stump shoved under a pillow.

“Whatever, hatchetface.” Hog huffs, petting his hair. “Go to sleep.”

And then, they shift more dramatically. It still isn’t the kind of ‘stop them from running forward’ sort of movie feelings, but he notices Rat slow down. Not a lot, never enough to mess his bomb-making up, but enough that Hog’s slightly less singed on the other side of it, and Rat’s counting as they leave is more drawn out. It’s endearing. Roadhog changes too, his habits of dragging Junkrat away from things he shouldn’t be messing with getting slightly more gentle. He goes a full week without threatening Junkrat with snapping his pegleg, once. It’s a process.

They mess around some more, though it tends more towards Roadhog covering his neck in bites and less to Rat on his face on the bed, pushing back against his hand and clenching the sheets between his fingers and teeth trying to stave off an orgasm.

They get a lot more motel rooms. 

And Junkrat sleeps against him more, grumbling when Roadhog stands in the morning and snuggling against his neck at night. It’s adorable. Hog is caught between hating it and feeling so warm in his chest that it makes him almost sick. He leans towards enjoying it, though, just like he leans towards enjoying the long, silent drives away from a smoking ruin where Rat passes out in his sidecar and only wakes up when Hog tries to move him without waking him, or when they’re sitting in the shell of a factory waiting for the daylight to fade enough to leave and he slides his hand into Roadhog’s with a nervous, jittery grin.

He’s honestly a lot more determined than Roadhog had given him credit for; he knows, of course, that he’ll do anything for money, but this is vaguer. He’s already getting off, it’s weird to imagine him being that concerned with Hog’s own erection. Still, he is.

On a stretch of about a week they’re in a motel outside of a gambling town, he insists on more attention. “Cuz we’re here anyway. Nothin’ else to do.” He mumbles, against the edge of Roadhog’s mask, trying to crawl under it. He’s already pulled Roadhog’s hair down. 

“There’s a telly.” He grunts, pulling his mask off anyway. Junkrat’s taken to kissing like fish to swimming, and it isn’t like it’s unenjoyable. He has to push Junkrat back to keep him from crawling completely on top of him. “You’re takin’ a shower before we do any of that.”

Jamie huffs, but since he’s also immediately released to crawl up on Mako, he’s over it pretty quickly. His nose jabs at Mako’s neck, but he turns his head a little, kissing along his neck in quick little pecks (he’s not really any good at foreplay, but Mako has stopped hoping on that front), and makes it up to his mouth with a quickness. He presses up as close against Mako’s chest as he can, nibbling at his lower lip and already grinding his hips down, his erection rubbing at Mako’s stomach, these desperate little whines muffled against his mouth.

The fact of it is that Jamie is a really, really good kisser. He’s learned how to do it better than Mako had ever imagined, his flesh hand tangled in Mako’s hair and his metal hand resting delicately on his shoulder, barely twitching. He makes these delicious little noises, like he’s the one getting the attention, or at least showing how much he likes it.

It’s kind of embarrassing how easily a man his age can be turned on. He runs his hands down Jamie’s sides and he moans, shivering and not holding his own weight. It’s  _ good,  _ the weird trust and give and take they’ve fallen into, it makes heat swell up behind Mako’s lungs and makes Jamie sit still for five minutes at a time.

He moans when Mako sits up, pulls him against himself. “Shower.” Jamie groans, but doesn’t fight when Mako lurches to his feet.

“Ya, yeah, whatever.” Jamie pants, giving what must be a gratuitous moan when Mako squeezes his thighs. “Just, the uh.” He leans down, clicking a few catches free and dropping his leg on the bed, where it rolls onto the floor. “Thought you said water doesn’t work?” 

He helps to peel back the sensors on his arm, dropping it on the bed to quickly join his other limb. “You smell like shit.” He gets a pout that doesn’t belong on a face all over wanted posters. Maybe on that short one, Lucio, but not on Jamie.

“Rude. Gonna give me blue balls.” He huffs, then yelps at the much rougher than usual pinch he gets on the ass for it. “What was that for?”

It takes all of his power not to snap at him, but Mako managed to keep it under wraps. “Might be good for you. Learn to wait for a fuckin’ second.” It’s mean, but Jamie just makes his thoughtful face, dropping his harness just a little too haphazardly for Mako’s taste.

It’s full of fucking bombs, that just seems like tempting fate.

Luckily, it doesn’t explode and kill them both pointlessly, but thuds with a hollow noise harmlessly to the floor. If Jamie hadn’t taken the first chance he got to start kissing him again, Mako would ask why he hadn’t been refilling it. He might have just ‘taken sabbatical’ from it, as he does regularly to think of bigger, better designs.

The hotel they’re staying at is one of the bigger, fully automated types, just inside the city and known not to question their patrons for anything less than a body being moved. The shower, though, is a nice marvel comparatively, in that it’s got a built-in seat and enough room for even Mako to stand-- well, slouch in.

Jamie flops onto the bench when he’s set down, fighting with the laces of his boot for as long as it takes Mako to kick his own off. As soon as his boot is off, he balances on his foot to drop his shorts and boxers, kicking them out of the stall to pile up with his boot. He fiddles with the knobs, his back pressing into the wall when the water comes out ice cold.

Chuckling under his breath, Mako turns away to strip his own pants off, acutely aware of Jamie’s attention being turned on him and that, despite his reminders to himself that he is a wanted killer and an adult man, he slows, embarrassed. He hasn’t felt the hot embarrassment of his  _ body  _ in a while; it isn’t his weight or his skin tone, or his scarring. It’s some mix of all but none of those things that makes his heart beat too fast and his hands slow in pushing his pants down.

When they fall on the floor and he can’t stall anymore, Jamie makes this soft, high noise, and Mako is reminded of being a teenager built like a brick house in the bedroom of a teenager built like a willow tree, trying desperately to be enough for someone he knew was only interested in getting off. Still, he forces himself to turn, and Jamie is staring at him, breathing harder.

His previously flagging erection is back, his hand twitching against his thigh like he’s contemplating touching himself. “Mate, you’re so fuckin’ hot.” Jamie has no poker face, can’t lie in the slightest, and he’s grinning, his eyes all wide and soft and adoring. It’s terrible.

“Stop starin’.” He huffs, walking over, watching Jamie’s eyes get wider as he takes Mako in from the front. The water is warm when he steps in, twisting to the side to keep from blocking the full spray. Jamie’s eyes follow him as he does, his mouth slightly open. “Close your eyes.”

Before he can complain, Mako pulls him forward to get his hair wet. Soot runs in gray rivers down his shoulders and chest, and he shudders, pressing his face against Mako’s stomach as he starts scrubbing at his hair. He’s better about it, but he’s still sensitive, and Mako doesn’t totally want to change that about him. The sample bottles are a pain, but he manages to pour shampoo onto his hair, lathering the soap until he can see more blond than singe. With the position, it’s easy enough for him to wash down his back and arms, massaging his neck because Jamie is tense and because he croons when he does.

“Fuck.” He murmurs, arching back when Mako moves towards his chest, leaning on the wall. “This is really fuckin’ good.”

Mako kneels, washing his chest and stomach while Jamie squirms, moaning outright when he gets to his hips. His cock twitches, and Mako swallows, then leans down, dragging his tongue up the underside.

“Fuck!” The stump of his leg smacks against the side of Mako’s head. “Sorry, sorry.”

He wraps his hands around Jamie’s thighs, pulling them down and apart, and draws his tongue up from the root to the tip again, holding Jamie still when he shudders, tries to buck again. Mako breathes a little shallower, shifting his hold under Jamie’s thighs to pull him closer to the edge of the bench. His knees ache, but he ignores it, sucking at Jamie’s balls and humming, but only just, trying to keep from drowning out Jamie’s noises.

Jamie starts shaking, panting harsher noises out, and sobs when Mako takes him to the root, doing his best to remember the tricks he knew when he was younger and used to do this more. He bobs his head once, twice, and pulls off when Jamie starts cumming, jerking him off and trying not to feel stupid when Jamie slurs about it getting on his face, his hand twitching against Mako’s wrist.

“God.” He whines, twisting in his hold when he gives one more long suck, just to torment him a little more. “Mako, Christ.”

Looking up makes his chest hurt, all those emotions he’s been trying to deny welling up at the sight of him, Jamie, leaning heavily on the wall of the shower, sooty soap bubbles rinsing down from his hair over his chest, his eyes half-lidded and his lip caught between his teeth. He’s gorgeous, his hair sticking wet to his face and his shoulders, chest, arms, his stomach even all twitching as he comes back to himself.

He runs his fingers through Mako’s hair, closing one eye as water and soap threatens to get in it, and Mako stands to kiss him again. And then again. Where normally Jamie would be oversensitive and sleepy, he’s now just pressing forward for more, sensitive to Mako’s hands but not asking for space, not doing that twitching, writhing, grunting, painful-sounding thing he does when he wants to stop but doesn’t want to stop.

He’s just kissing and pulling and shivering, just a little, but still emphatically interested, his hand even daring to slide down to Mako’s thigh, but apparently losing nerve there. He bites at Mako’s bottom lip, insistent, and he remembers to check that the shampoo’s rinsed out of his hair completely, then pulls back because he’s not going to not shower if he has the chance. Besides, Jamie is getting to that shaking-too-much point, and Mako can wait. Especially since it seems like he might manage a little more tonight.

He washes his hair, and Jamie finishes washing his lower half, and it feels almost domestic. Mako washes himself off, watched though he is, with no real issue. Being watched idly or even lustfully is fine by him, it’s better than fear or contempt, both of which lead to planning and attacks. Jamie stands and nearly cracks his skull open, and grudgingly lets Mako help him out, but insists on drying his own goddamn hair, thank  _ you  _ very _ much _ .

“Whatever.” Mako shrugs, turning away to grab a towel for himself, still well aware that he’s being watched, well aware that it isn’t malicious and honestly a little put off by it. New sensations and all. He does his best not to show that he’s even concerned, drying himself off and then dropping the wet towel to grab another. Jamie hums softly, though, and he turns. “What.”

 

He blinks, sitting upright on the bed. “Oh, uh. Nothin’. Just waiting.” He wiggles a little, and apparently that’s what that means.

Mako is entirely too excited for his age about Jamie waiting for him. He forces himself to take is time drying off, and doesn’t rush to the little pack of semi-essentials when he’s finished with that. The pack has some archaic medical supplies, a few of those fast-acting creams they use now, scissors, a very small bomb (obviously) and a bottle of  _ Astroglide. _

Some companies will survive any apocalypse, he thinks.

When he turns back to the bed, Jamie is lounging on a pile of pillows and bedding wadded under his lower back. ‘This is it.’ He thinks, and then immediately amends it to ‘This might be it, but whatever happens is fine.’

Jamie makes the strangest noises, almost trilling when Mako returns, settling on his knees in front of him; no matter the complaints he’d have later, he couldn’t be payed to put his bare ass on  _ this  _ floor. He smooths a hand over Jamie’s chest and feels his too-fast pulse beating away under his ribs, the little tremulous sigh rattling them under his hand, and sets the bottle on the floor beside him to run his other hand up his leg. First the full one, then the stump, tracing from end to hip, watching the way his stomach twitched and his dick returned to attention after its brief sojourn.

Mako’s nails scratch through his pubes and he grunts, hips twitching. Good. He skips over his erection, trailing the tips of his fingers down to the slight space between his thighs, then gripping one and pushing it apart from the other. His other hand rests on Jamie’s hip, reminding him not to squirm too much, until he relaxes against his pile of pink and red bedding.

When he’s as pliant as he’s going to be, Mako takes his hands back, grabs the lube, and shifts on his knees. Next time, he’ll just be on the bed with him. For now, he pours a healthy amount of lube over his fingers, then dribbles some over Jamie’s dick, because it never hurts to. The best thing about not having to wear his mask around him alone, now, is that he can lean forward and press a little kiss to the stump of his thigh and watch the tremor roll up his body, use the wake of it to press his finger against his entrance.

It takes a few seconds of petting at his thigh and twisting his hand this way and that, but, after it, he relaxes, and Mako shortly has one finger in him to the knuckle. He kisses the inside of Jamie’s thigh, pressing the second, his timing just a little faster than usual, bolstered on the hope of actually getting off near the same time as Jamie did. He grunts, a noise not quite in pain but not exactly euphoric, as Mako’s second finger joins the first.

Waiting for Jamie to adjust is terrible, but he waits, and once he feels he can, he pumps his fingers a little, pouring more lube over them, his face turned now to his thigh, the scarred stump, because the little shudders Jamie makes at each gentle kiss are wonderful. Even if they do slow him down. They have time. He spreads his fingers open and Jamie groans, his hand gripping at the sheet and his cock twitching.

Jamie plants his foot on Mako’s shoulder again, not so much pushing but just resting his foot there, and Mako suspects it’s just a thing with him. Whatever makes him comfortable. Pressing his lips to one of the scars on his leg makes Jamie groan again, muttering softly under his breath.

“Come on, come on.” He huffs, whimpering a little when Mako does as he’s told, pressing another finger in. “God, that’s a fuckin’, lot. A lot.” His toes curl in time with Mako’s fingers. It’s no more than he’s managed before. “How much longer?”

Always so impatient. “Not much.” He rubs his thumb against Jamie’s perineum, earning a low whine and a push at his shoulder. “Stay still.”

He takes a few more moments to pump his fingers inside him, watching him twitch and hearing him whine, before standing back up. If nothing else, he thinks, at least these places always have condoms. He has to pull his hand back and dig around in the drawer for a minute, returning once he’s found the single condom that will fit. Jamie eyes him as he rolls it on, his hand traveling over his chest and idly tweaking one of his nipples, his teeth sunk in his bottom lip. Mako strokes himself a few times, pouring the lube over himself and spreading it over the condom.

Jamie shifts restlessly until his hips are pinned down, making these harsh little noises of  _ want  _ that almost convince Mako to rush. Almost. He presses the head of his cock against Jamie’s hole and breathes, keeping the pressure light enough that it won’t hurt, and tries not to stare too hard into his partner’s eyes, even if they are boring into him.

They both gasp when the head slips in, Jamie’s followed by some fast pants and trying to twist his hips free to push him deeper. He’s tight, of course, and twitching from head to toe, his hand on Mako’s wrist and his gaze distant. Mako leans in, kisses him, sucking on his tongue and making him moan as he presses in deeper, steadily pushing in, his other hand splaying over Jamie’s chest to feel him breathe, shallowly. 

“There you go.” He murmurs, lips trailing to Jamie’s ear when he turns his head, sobbing a moan as Mako’s hips press to his ass. He’s trembling, his dick twitching. “Took it all.”

His grip is almost painful, his thighs twitching. “Fuck, uh, fuck, kiss me, please, please.” He trails off to a whine when Mako rolls his hips, his neck arching. “‘S fuckin’  _ good,  _ just, kiss me, please.” He keeps slurring even when Mako does so, taking a few seconds to respond properly but gripping the back of his neck like he’s worried Mako might just vanish.

It takes a few long minutes for Jamie to catch his breath, his hand eventually relaxing its grip, and Mako still stays near him for a while, kissing him until he’s giggling and squirming. Then, he sits up, one hand planted in the center of his chest to hold him still. The first thrust is slow, pulling mostly out and then pressing back in, then repeat, finding a slow, smooth rhythm. Normally, or at least in the past, Mako is a quiet partner, but he murmurs to Jamie as he moves, telling him exactly how he feels and how well he’s doing, watching his eyes flutter and his head loll as he enjoys himself.

When he finds his words, they aren’t really surprising. “More. Mako, c’mon, faster, c’mon.” He pants, making a noise that sounds halfway pained when he gets what he wants, his head falling back and his legs twitching.

After that, it’s just a chorus of “god” and “fuck” and, his personal favorite, “Mako, please.” Not much of just his name, just him begging for more, harder, anything. For the most part, he doesn’t really have to go any faster, just taking his time and feeling every twitch Jamie gives under him, around him. He keeps murmuring to him, telling him how gorgeous he is, how he feels, soft enough not to drown out the noises he’s making.

Unsurprisingly, Jamie comes first. He thrashes, digging his heel into Mako’s hip and rocking his hips up, grinding his cock against Mako’s gut desperately, and Mako just watches him, listens to the huffing, reedy noises he makes, tweaks one of his nipples between his fingers until he’s shaking and oversensitive, gritting his teeth and whining because he never wants to say ‘stop’.

“Nn-no, why’re you, you didn’t.” He whimpers, trying to hold Mako still as he pulls back. “C’mon, Mako, please, please. Please?” The tone of the last one stops him, maybe-imagined tremors, like the verge of tears. “I want you to come.”

He pushes forward again, fully inside, and gives Jamie a moment to object. He does this a few times, pulling back and pushing forward, until Jamie is moaning again, his mouth open and a string of drool connecting his face to the sheets, his cock waking back up as Mako moves.

It’s surprisingly hot, watching Jamie recover and ask for more, not something Mako had ever really fantasized about but something he was sure he enjoyed. Now that he knows Jamie will ask for it, he moves faster, starting a quick rhythm and working his way up to truly  _ fast,  _ their skin slapping and Jamie’s thighs trying to press together, his entire body trying to twist onto his front, each noise ripping out of him and his nails digging into Mako’s shoulder.

When Jamie arches his back up, pressing his ass against Mako’s thighs and holding him there for a moment as he shakes all over, there’s the slightest  _ bulge  _ in his abdomen, and Mako makes a point of pressing on it, gasping when he feels the pressure at the head of his cock. Jamie is blissed out, so he leaves it, just watching it as he slams into him faster, the stretching of Jamie’s entire body around him as he moves. After a while, he leans in, kissing his neck a few times, because Jamie is making high, needy noises, close again.

“C-C’mon, please, please.” He pants, clinging now, his face wet with drool and sweat and tears, probably. “So fuckin’, much, Mako, god.”

That does him in, the clinging, the way Jamie’s voice is ruined, and he slams into him a few more times before he comes, grinding against his ass. Jamie sobs, twisting again, close but not enough, and comes with a shout as Mako thrusts a few more times, both of them finally spent. He seems disappointed when Mako doesn’t fall on top of him, but accepts the kisses he’s offered nonetheless, grunting a little when he pulls out.

Jamie lays pliant and tired as Mako shuffles around, throwing out the condom and getting a cloth to wipe first himself, then Jamie down with. He rolls onto his face as soon as Mako is done, grumbling happily, and seems to fall asleep until Mako settles in next to him, though admittedly this could be because he drags Jamie up from the bottom of the bed and kicks all but a few blankets off the bed, which does move them both around a bit.

“Mako.” He murmurs, mouthing messily against his neck. “I just had sex.”

Rolling his eyes, Mako finishes tucking the blanket around him, noting the red on his ass. He’ll hate the sidecar tomorrow. “I was there.” His arm is already under Jamie’s head, so he leaves it there, letting the blond shuffle in closer.

“It felt  _ so good. _ ” He breathes, fingers traipsing over Mako’s gut. “We gotta do that again.”

**Author's Note:**

> (tli voice) I just had sex (whoa-oh) and it felt so good (felt so good)  
> aha...... this is actually the longest thing I've ever written and I'm? a little annoyed abt it.  
> buy me a coffee mb? https://ko-fi.com/A781PZJ


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